Where We Belong
by Boyfrom0z
Summary: Watson is getting married to Mary and Holmes can't bear the thought of losing him, but neither can he bring himself to act on his feelings. Rated for guy/guy, but it's nothing bad. one-shot


_A/N: Someone was going to beta this for me, but I never heard back from them so I decided to go ahead and post it. It doesn't really have to be 2009!Holmes and Watson (that's not even who I really picture), but it sort of picks up where the movie left off. Anyway, enjoy! Oh and points to anyone who spots the Star Trek reference!  


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I stood there in silence, blank as an empty page, unable to move, unable to think, watching him walk away and unable to stop him.

I should have yelled after him, should have run after him, but I did not. I just stood there.

In a few moments he had turned the corner and was gone forever and I had done nothing to stop him, not a thing.

What was wrong with me? I was a man of action, was I not? How could I have let this happen? How could I have let him walk from me away like that?

_It's not as if I'm dying_, he'd said with a laugh. _You'll see me around._

But it would not be the same.

He was no longer mine.

Not that he had ever been truly mine, but now- now he was to be _hers_.

Officially, socially, and legally hers.

I had lost all claim to him.

For so long, through so many changes, he had been my one and only constant, the one person in my life on whom I'd had ever been able to thoroughly rely. And I'd lost him. Just like that.

I knew it was my duty to him to attend the ghastly event that would seal him away from me forever, but I did not know that I would be able to take it. He had promised it would be a small affair, but still-.

And the days were flashing by in a haze of misery and loss (though some of the haze might have been the drugs) and then I was in a small hallway behind the altar, trying to get a last few words with him before I lost him forever.

"Watson," I said quietly, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention.

"Holmes," he replied, turning to me, his eyes alight with happiness.

"I need to speak with you."

"Can't it wait?" He clearly thought this was to do with a case; I could see it in his eyes plain as writing.

"No."

And I knew that at least he still trusted me because he nodded his apologies to the handful of friends and family around him and stepped with me into a side room.

"What is it?" he asked.

I ran my tongue over my lips, which were suddenly devoid of the words I'd been planning for days. I had rehearsed my final speech to my dear Boswell a thousand or more times both in my head and aloud whilst alone in the rooms that we had, until this hideous separation, shared. Watson watched me patiently, not looking at all like a man about to be married save for his dress. Finally words came to my lips and I spoke them only to realize too late that they were none of the words I had planned. They were not even words I had ever thought before, but as I heard them I knew, for the first time, that they were true. Horrible as it was, they were true and there was not a thing I could ever do about it.

"I love you, John," I said. At first I was only surprised by my own use of his first name. Then I realized what I had said.

For a long moment he simply stared at me, not betraying a single emotion.

"I know, Sherlock," he said softly and with a sad smile. "I imagine I've known it much longer than you have."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded.

He shook his head, infuriatingly amused.

"Be reasonable, would that have gone well?"

"No," I said petulantly.

We just looked at each other for what felt like a very long time, but could only have been moments as we both took in what neither of us had ever truly come to terms with before.

"Are you really going to do it then?" I asked, dropping my gaze, feeling suddenly weak, a feeling I was not accustomed to and did not at all like.

"Are you going to stop me?" he asked and I could not tell if he was teasing or serious.

"Can I?" I asked grimly.

"I suppose you won't know unless you try."

"What would you say?" I asked, trying to suppress the flair of hope suddenly blazing in my chest.

"I don't know," he said slowly and I knew it was the truth.

For a moment, I bit my lip, wondering if I could deny my dear Watson this chance at a beautiful, if conventional, happiness. I looked up into his eyes and the words came tumbling out.

"I wish you wouldn't marry her," I said lamely.

"You would have me break her heart?" he asked.

"I would have you not break mine."

He frowned ever so slightly and after a heartbeat I knew what I must say.

"Don't do this, John." I did not beg him nor did I order him. I simply said it. There was not other way. "For me."

He nodded.

I could not speak for several deep breaths of forced calm.

"Do you love me then, John?" I asked.

"Sherlock," he said with a quiet laugh, "why the hell else would I have put up with you all these years?"

"Then why on Earth were you going to marry her? You're not making sense!" I objected, flustered by shock and joy.

"It seemed the rational thing to do."

"And you are, I suppose, a rational man?"

"How could I be and love you?"

Even I could not get my mind around this, shocked as I still was by my epiphany.

"Sherlock," he said gently, "I thought it was time. If you were happily in denial, I wasn't going to spoil that. I figured if I couldn't have a life with you that it was time to move on and make one of my own. Mary's a nice girl."

"John," I said scornfully, "that is possibly the worst excuse I have ever heard and I pray to God that you make a better lover than you do liar."

I reached out and ran my fingertips down his jaw, feeling him shiver at my touch. He half closed his eyes, arching his neck, inviting me to trace my fingers down the exposed skin. He was giving in to me beneath my very fingers. In a few moments he would be utterly and inarguably mine. I smiled as my fingers caught on his well-starched collar, straining at the still fabric, quietly desperate to rip it from his body.

"Sherlock," he whispered almost reproachfully, laying a hand on mine, wrapping his fingers around my hand, and pulling it gently away, but still holding it with a tender possession, not letting go. "I still have to break off my wedding, remember?"

I nodded.

He smiled a bittersweet sort of smile, studied my hand for a moment longer and then raised it be his lips and kissed my fingers.

"Do you want me to-?" I asked.

"No. Let me handle this."

I followed him to the door to the sanctuary, where I lurked in the small hallway, trying not to let anyone, especially not Mary, see me.

He walked calmly over to where the priest stood and whispered a few words in his ear. I could not see the old man's face, but even through his long robes I could see his body stiffen. John leaned closer to him, whispering more intently, trying to make his point. I knew he was saying that he was sure, that he did not just have "cold feet," and that there would certainly be no wedding that day. I saw the old priest sigh and shake his head.

I watched John walk slowly down the isle and the small congregation started to shift and whisper, to realize that something was most definitely wrong. When he reached the doors to the atrium, which were already open for the small bridal party, he whispered to one of the bride's maids who disappeared through a side door and returned a few moments later with Mary, who looked beautiful, albeit confused, in her long, white gown.

The assemblage was now so silent in its collective anticipation to see what would happen that even I could hear John and Mary's quiet conversation.

"What is it, John?" she asked, smiling, but somehow betraying her fear.

"I'm sorry, Mary."

"What? What do you mean?" She took a step back from him, her eyes wide, denying that she knew what was coming.

I wished I could have been able to read his face in those few silent moments.

"I can't marry you," he said at last.

Gasps ran through the congregation, but, to my surprise, Mary remained quite steady.

"I won't ask why as I know, but I would have thought that you valued a proper life, John."

"I do, but I know now that I can never have one."

She reached out and took both his hands in hers.

"I know, my love."

"I am sorry. You know I never meant to hurt you, but I can't."

"It's alright," she said, sending another gasp around the small crowd of onlookers. "I was foolish to think you'd really go through with this. I know where you belong."

"And where is that?" he asked and I could hear that his throat was starting to constrict.

She leaned close to him and whispered her answer in his ear.

For a moment longer they stood there holding hands and looking at each other. Then she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and bade him go.

"Go on, my dear John, We all yearn to be where we belong and you are lucky enough to know where that is. I cannot possibly deny you that."

"Thank you, my sweet Mary."

I marveled at the understanding in her eyes as he walked passed her and out of the church, leaving the congregation in uproar. Mary's friends and family pressed in around her, abusing John's name and demanding an explanation from the poor girl. She stood there calmly, delicately dodging their questions and accepting their condolences with good grace. She glanced up over their heads for a moment and her eyes meant mine and I knew in that moment that she had surrendered him to me, that she did not begrudge him his happiness, and that he was mine. There was a flicked of fire in her eyes, however, that plainly said, "if you ever hurt him not only will he be mine again, but you will rue the day you were born, Sherlock Holmes." I nodded politely and escaped out the back door of the church.

A quick glance around the churchyard told me John was gone. I hailed a cab and rode impatiently back to 221b.

John was standing by the window when I enter the rooms that it would seem we once again shared. He didn't turn when he heard me open and close the door.

"John?" I said, suddenly tentative.

"Do you know what she said to me?" he asked, still gazing out of the glass at something I could not see.

"No," I replied, knowing he meant what she'd whispered in his ear.

"When I asked her where it was she thought I belonged?"

I swallowed the impatient retort of, "yes I know what you meant" and instead said simply, "Yes?"

"She said, "with him, at his side where you have always been and where you always will be." She said that to me."

"And it's true," I replied, crossing to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to face me and, while there was something in his eyes that still seemed lost, it was the look of a sailor finally laying eyes on his homeport after years and years at sea. His eyes were over-bright with tears and it was like looking through shattered mirrors at a man who'd been prisoner of the darkness for so long that when he now stepped back into the light it was like the first time he had never seen the sun or felt its warmth.

"John," I whispered, "it's alright. You're home."

"Sherlock," he gasped. "I can't believe I almost lost you."

"Ditto," I said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're here now and that's all that matters."

"I thought it made sense."

"It makes perfect sense, but if you'd wanted a life that made sense then you should never have met me."

"My meeting you was not in my control."

"Do you regret it?" I asked. "If you'd never met me, you could have had a normal life."

"Normal and boring." He laid a hand gently against my cheek. "I love you, Sherlock and I wouldn't trade this for anything."

I could hardly believe it. It somehow made sense for me to feel the way I did – to want nothing other than this moment. John was my one chance at happiness, the one person who could understand me without judging me, hold me without crushing me, support me without strangling me. But him? Why did he want this? He could have been happy with Mary. He could have led that normal life. I never had a chance at that life, but he did. Why then had he turned it down?

He must have seen the question in my eyes for he smiled and spoke.

"I could never have been truly happy with her, not after knowing you. She's a lovely girl, yes, but you-. You're something entirely different and you are what I love."

"You really mean that?"

"Would I lie to you?"

I smiled and shook my head.

I was burning to kiss him, but something was holding me back. Maybe it would all be too much in one day. I didn't want to hurt him. However, there was a sort of expectance in his eyes. Perhaps he _wanted_ me to kiss him. His hand was still resting warm on my face. I reached up and took his hand in mine, pulling it from my cheek, feeling its warmth. He raised his other hand to our intertwined fingers and I did the same.

"John, I love you."

It felt so good to finally say it and to finally know it.

I slid my hands from his and over his shoulders, pulling him to me. I felt him wrapping his arms around my waist. We pulled our bodies together until we were only inches apart. For a moment we just held each other, breathing the same air, gazing into each other's eyes. Then we closed those last few inches and our lips met.

And it was paradise.

Pure and simple.

It may have only lasted moments, but I knew those moments would be forever emblazoned on my heart, driving me on through the dark times and glowing still through the good ones.

We broke the kiss, but remained close, savoring that moment of release. Trapped in each other's arms, we were both suddenly freer than we had ever been. I felt it wash over me like sinking into a hot bath, this new feeling enveloping me, warm and safe in his embrace. For the first time, I truly knew who I was and what I wanted. It was rather like when I'd solved for my first professional case all those years ago. Then too I had known that I had finally found what I was meant for, what I would spend the rest of my life living for.

"John," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

"Yes?"

"This is perfect. I never thought I'd say it, but this is truly perfect."

He just smiled and shook his head, knowing I had often claimed perfection to be an utter impossibility. I, however, knew that I had been, beyond the shadow of a doubt, proven wrong and that in the moment of our kiss nothing in the would could have improved it.


End file.
